It’s me and you, or me and knitting. Don’t make me choose. Ugh, #love.

If zombies eat brains, then they’d love me, because who doesn’t like a buffet?

I once inscribed the word “Ennui” backwards on my forehead, and I was so bored that I stared at it in the mirror for hours. And at the end of that time, I felt like...

In the spirit of slumber parties, I want to have a sleepover and invite only narcoleptics.

I think the most heavenly food is fluffy white clouds.

If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do—fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead....

I just got circumcised, and to help the homeless, I’m going to make a tent out of my foreskin. But right now I’m offering free coffee if you haven’t got a place to sleep.

An inch of enchilada, as good as it is, is not even worth a centimeter of love. My feelings for you are hot, so you may need some sour cream.

It’s not how much you paid, but how much it would cost to replace it that’s important. What is the price of love?

I’m a dyslexic dancer. Instead of leading the women, I follow. Quick, cab driver, follow that woman!

Nobody peels a banana before stabbing themselves with it. But that’s exactly how I love—dangerously.

I eat soup with chopsticks—and straws. And I make love with the surgical precision of a sledgehammer.

so you suspect his death was a suicide.

Maybe one day I could fly all over the world and meet other interesting birds.

I make love like Brett Favre threw his first pass as a Green Bay Packer—to himself. Obviously, himself is myself.

Don’t litter.

To forgive is Godly. To begrudge is manly. I don’t even have any chest hair, so you know where I stand.

Half my body is sunburned, and the other half is melted like ice cream. But at least my love for her is still cold.

She looked like the kind of woman I could fall in love with. Trouble is, she was standing next to the kind of woman I’d like to make love to.

Salmon swim against my stream of consciousness.

Sexy isn’t my middle name. Lust-factory is, with the hyphen.

Love is the jelly to sunshine’s peanut butter. And if I tell you that I’m in sandwich with you, I’m not just saying it to get in your Ziploc bag.

Myth, mist, and mystery all add to the illusion of love. If you need me I’ll be by the fog machine wearing a tunic and writing an epic poem in Greek.

A blanket could represent change, and a brick represents consistency. Do you embrace the blanket, or the brick?

To love someone as much as you love yourself, that is the ideal. Especially if that someone is your clone.

Coffee is for lovers. So if you don’t drink coffee, you must be asexual, and I’d love to study your mating ritual.

Even though I know my own name (barely), I still sometimes write my name wrong. Usually it only happens when I write in cursive and am endorsing checks for money I can’t recall earning.

Hydrogenated and androgynous milky white love is all I have to offer you. Would you like me to pour it in your coffee, or directly into your soul?

If you can be quiet, you’re more than welcome to stay in my House of Silence. Bring your own bubblegum ice cream.

I’m trying to translate what my cat says and put it in a book, but how many homonyms are there for meow?

She has a sly smile, and eyes that seem to see my essence as they explore my soul and implore my spirit to enter her. I look at her and I see love.

Life is still very much the same since I said I love you and she said nothing. That was two months ago, and neither one of us has yet to hang up the phone. I...

I wear a helmet when I write, because if you’re doing it right, writing is dangerous.

In a blind taste-test, my kisses were rated as Helen Kelleresque. Women love how the only sense I keenly possess is nonsense.

You know how mainstream news is interspersed with product ads? Well, why aren’t all the shows made entirely out of the stuff? I find commercials more believable, and I’d be more inclined to watch.

My printer printed off blank pages. Is my printer out of ink, or do I just have nothing to say?

The cat hair floated in the air like a sound vibration, and I plucked it like a guitar string. Sometimes I can be so musical I’m like a living love song.

Where other men failed, I was able to unzip her pants. All I did was gently turn the handle. I make love like a locksmith in a room with no doors.

I could have thought up a lot of things, but many great people had to go and live before me. They might have stole my thunder, but I’ve got a tight hold on the lightning.

What can I say about love that’s never been said by me or anyone else? Well, sometimes love smells like my farts, after I eat a dozen roses.

Son of Manana.” Of course it isn’t accurate, because I’m the father of yesterday.

You can read until you’re blue in the face, but I’d recommend writing until you’re red in the face. And ass.

I Love Jenn” jacket. Two girls, one continuous love. The I Love Jennifer is a little off-center, but then so am I. Better than being self-centered, as my clone would probably say.

I saw a white toilet, with no plumbing, alone in a field of snow. Well, almost alone. There were two naked albinos and a polar bear sitting on it, and I felt inspired to write...

I once said hello to a pack of goodbyes, but they were asleep to my coffee offering. They were running towards love, which is always running away from me.

I want to meet a guy named Art. I’d take him to a museum, hang him on the wall, criticize him, and leave.

A skyscraper is to a brick as a pyramid is to____________A) a vagina, B) a particular vagina, or C) your mother’s vagina.

I hope you enjoy reading my book as much as I didn’t enjoy writing it. Just kidding! I hope you don’t enjoy it at all.

Of all the things God created, from sunrises and rainbows, to black holes and humor, cats are the most fascinating to me.

A brick could be used as another brick, as they all look the same. So yes, I am for human cloning as a means to build the future.